I like hustle. I’m also a big fan of bustle (not all bustle, mind – Strictly Come Dancing’s Darcey Bustle gets right on my wick).

All in all, I simply love a good throng. Especially when you get along with your throng; it warms yer cockles like a gluhwein in a wintry gale.

However, as we reach the month of November, there’s an imminent push and shove frenzy of such fervour that even I, who thrives in hives of activity, would consider giving it the swerve.

It’s that time of the year the Birmingham business community collectively takes leave of their senses and say “Great! The German market is on its way – let’s meet there for a seasonal catch-up!”

For the love of St Nick’s beard, let’s not. I’ve been there and no longer will I do that.

There are countless reasons why this annual networking ritual should be ended forthwith, with anyone daring to suggest such folly deserving of an immediate punitive trip to somewhere of a similar intensity...like the front row of a One Direction gig in the middle of a heatwave, moments after Harry has promised to longingly lick the earlobe of one eternally grateful fan.

Planning to network at the market is exactly like reading about a 13 mile tailback on the M42 and thinking ‘What a genuinely great opportunity to discuss business performance and general wellbeing with work acquaintances. We can meet at junction eight and literally nothing will go wrong!’

Anyone who dares rejoinder with ‘don’t be ridiculous – it’s easy to meet at the market and, unlike at junction eight of the M42, alcohol consumption is positively encouraged’, I say this to you: pffft! (that’s me blowing a raspberry by the way, not deflating a passing Zeppelin).

Arranging to meet at the main beer stall at the German market actually means standing in the vicinity of Starbucks Coffee...in Coventry.

To get any closer than 15ft of the stall involves being (a) the Incredible Hulk or (b) so precariously thin, you find yourself repeatedly mistaken for the relationship between President Obama and Chancellor Merkel.

The only way to ensure a prominent, comfortable place for festivities is to arrive early (July 2011 would be the best recommendation), purchase a single round of 18 pints of beer (double this if you’re expecting more than one guest) and remain smugly, snugly located in the far corner of the inadequately small indoor seating area.

Be aware, however, that even when you think you’ve planned your arrival for the optimal time, a team of burly tax accountants from Newhall Street will already have beaten you to the coveted corner. That’s tax accountants for you: superhumanly organised.

Even if you do find a 0.0000014 sq ft of space to claim as your own, you’re then doomed to five minutes of mobile phone torture whilst you await company – that torture is usually represented by the following scene, performed at a futilely loud volume:

You: “Hello?! Can you hear me?! I’m near the garlicky potato stall, next to a man with a beard so extravagently luxurious it’s keeping the two of us warm. You can’t miss us. where are you?”

Friend: “[inaudible white noise due to a thousand revellers inadvertently drowning out friend’s voice]”

You: “I can’t hear you. I think the man’s beard is causing interference. Where. Are. You?!”

Friend: “[more white noise, with occasional hints of profanity]”

You: “This was a ridiculous idea. I’m having a sausage then I’m heading home.”

The opportunity to share a seasonal sausage with a work contact should never be underestimated, and most business professionals with a heart want to lighten the end of a tough working day by taking in Birmingham’s headiest atmosphere.

So yes, the Frankfurt Market is indeed worth a visit. But this year, I’ve decided I’m going to enjoy it in the best way possible: I’m going on my own.

Therefore, I’ll see you on November 14...in the pub, after I’ve wolfed down my prager schinken. Tschüss, mein Freund.

* Keith Gabriel is a Birmingham-based PR account manager